


A Broken Place

by Lockea



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Canon Disabled Character, Dehumanization, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Genetic Engineering, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiple Sclerosis, Non-Sexual Slavery, Power Imbalance, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockea/pseuds/Lockea
Summary: With no family to claim him, Keith Kogane was sold into slavery at the age of twelve. Now eighteen, he’s sent to serve one of the Great Houses of Mars, the White household. Life expectancy for slaves on Mars isn’t high, as the harsh terraforming and colonization operations feed on human and mechanical lives in equal turn. Prepared for death, the last thing Keith expects is to be made a household slave instead and spared from his assured fate.Takashi Shirogane-White married as he was expected to in order to secure ties between two of the Great Families, but with his mobility faded due to disease and his marriage loveless and sour, Takashi feels trapped and stifled, lonely enough to do something that would scandalize all the Great Houses – befriend the slave assigned to care for him. But the more Takashi learns about Keith, the more he fantasizes about a future where they don’t have to be trapped by their roles, a future beyond their broken places.(Archive warnings not used because I haven't decided if any will apply to this fic. So far, none do.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write Keith whump and this is what came out. Listen, I don't claim to NOT be power exchange trash, but like "The Unforgotten" this fic was born because nothing in the tags was quite scratching my itch for me.
> 
> That said, I'm always in awe of the VLD fandom's skill and ability when it comes to writing fanfiction. You guys are truly talented! Just because your fics don't scratch my itch doesn't mean I haven't loved every word of them.

Processing is the worst – everything else he’s gotten used to, but processing still remains a special sort of hell. The ship lands on Mars and Keith comes to on a steel table, flat on his back with a tube shoved down his throat and cold metal bindings on his wrists and ankles, keeping him secure even as AC blows across his bare skin, pebbled in the cold. They don’t speak when they enter the room, two white clad attendants who move with perfunctory precision, taking his vitals and checking him for any damage from the cryo-sleep. Clippers come up to shave his head, the eight months of growth gone down to a few scant centimeters of fuzz. The tube is removed from his throat, replaced by a bit gag fastened behind his head. A twisted metal collar around his neck, stamped with the insignia of his new house. Each manacle undone and replaced by bracelets with that same insignia. Keith bites back a groan of pain when he’s pulled up into a sitting position, his stiff arms maneuvered behind his back and fastened via a chain between his manacled wrists. A longer chain binds his ankles and he’s shoved off the table and onto his feet, stumbling through the corridors of the processing center on legs that threaten to fail, weak as a newborn colt.

They pass other rooms of similar status, glimpsed through one-way mirrors to see men and women and children, like him in states of coming from cryo-sleep, brought here for a singular purpose.

A hundred years ago, a successful colonization mission established the Great Houses, a government system of space aristocracy. With Earth in a state of fundamental decay, there were two options for the colonists – establish themselves or die. And establish themselves they did. The Great Houses built their mining operations on the Red Planet and began sending back shipments of precious minerals in exchange for but one thing – people.

When he was a child, Keith learned in school that the Ancients found slavery abhorrent, had banned it across the world even as it festered in the shadows. Earth’s fall and last attempts to save itself via the Mars Projects reestablished something even older than the Ancients – the practice of chattel slavery. He’d sat in class and considered himself lucky he had his father, a vital member of the city-state military, to vouch for his citizen status.

And then his father was killed in the line of fire and his citizenship revoked. Afterall, his mother had been a slave, and oh wasn’t it tragic that his father had just never found the time to file his own son’s writ of manumission and citizenship papers? He was twelve, and his world fell to pieces.

Now he’s eighteen and the laminate tile beneath his feet is freezing cold, as is the air in the processing facility, his bare skin exposed with little care to his own comfort. He’d been filed away, processed, and forgotten. The two attendants lead him into a tile room, showerheads marking the wall in even intervals, just as stark and white and clinically sterile as the rest of the room. They shove him none too gently against the wall under one of the heads, chain him there, and turn on the water.

Once upon a time, water was precious on Mars. Keith had learned that in school, but the last of the hair from when they shaved him and the cryostasis liquid sloughs off his skin in the freezing deluge. He gasps around the bit and tries to catch his breath, shivering when the flow shuts off just as suddenly as it began and the attendants soap him down, lye and harsh before he is drowned again in the cold. It’s barely five minutes, the whole process, but his teeth chatter harshly in his mouth, shaking like a leaf in his bindings as they drag him from the room, soaked through and through, and into a holding cell where the other slaves huddle for warmth, equally wet and bare and shaking in the harsh cold.

He settles down in a corner to wait, not at all immune to the cold or the wary looks the other slaves cast his way. He has a reputation, after all, and the fight he’d put up when they’d tried to put him in cryo-sleep had been enough to earn him a specific reputation in this lot.

It’s a long wait, but eventually his skin dries and the press of bodies as the cell fills grants paltry warmth, enough that hypothermia no longer seems a dreadfully imminent fear.  It’s maybe three, four hours for everyone to process but eventually the sound of heavy boots and the deferential atmosphere of the attendants is alert enough that their new master or a high-ranking servant has come to inspect the lot.

The man that steps into room on the other side of the cell bars is young, sandy haired cropped close to his ears, glasses an even rarer mark of status here than it is on earth perched across a tan, aquiline nose. His features are thin and regal, and he bears himself as one well used to status and prestige.

“Bring them forward.” The man, their master, orders the attendants, and one by one they’re led from the cell. He ducks back as far as possible, ensuring he’ll be one of the last ones called, and watches for patterns. The children, those younger than Keith was when he first knelt in training chains, are sent to various parts of the household. Strong men and women are sent to the harsher assignments, while those who look too frail to survive much more than a few days in the harsh mines or terraforming operations are sent to tasks about the household in a balance between the light taskings of the children and the harsh taskings of the strong. So, their new master fancies himself gregarious, to spare the weak and young. It won’t save Keith – he’s eighteen and strong, hardy in a way that means he’ll be sent to his early death in the harsh environment beyond the safety of the colony.

He knows this – he knew this when his lot was batch sold to Mars – but he’s still apprehensive (scared) because this isn’t what he wants. He doesn’t want to die. He wants his family back. His mother’s warmth before she passed away of the slave’s disease, his father’s laughter before he left him to the vultures that tore apart his future as he was helpless to stop them, who stole his family’s estate and his citizenship all in the same breath. This isn’t the future he should have known.

Yet it’s his future nonetheless. He’s pulled forward by the attendants, brought before the master who looks at him without really seeing him, seeing yet another slave. Yet something the master sees gives him pause, and Keith’s chin is grabbed in slender, soft hands, face turned roughly towards the light on the far wall. “Violet eyes.” The master murmurs, entranced, and were the bit not blocking his words, Keith would snarl. “You’re genetic.”

He is – his mother was – and it was rare enough to be coveted in slaves. To make him valuable on Earth, valuable enough he spent his teenage years as a rich old man’s pet attraction before his death and estate sale brought him here.

“What a rare find.” The master muses to himself – for who would deign to talk to a slave? “I think my husband would like you.” He turns his attention to the attendant handling the assignments. “Household, my husband’s suite. Magdalen has been asking for muscle in his suite. I shall finally oblige.”

Shock falls, colder than the water of the showers, washing over Keith as he realizes he’s been spared. Spared because of his eyes. Of course. His mother’s cursed eyes, the ones that had saved her and damned her in the same breath. He, too, would one day pass away of the slave’s disease that had stolen her life, the curse of a genetic’s eyes.

He's led from the room with the two others – children, girls both – assigned to his section of the household and into another room where he’s directed to take a seat on a long, low bench. Keith doesn’t protest, knowing better than to act out, as his bit is unfastened and removed. A moment later it’s replaced by a mask that runs from over his nose and down his chin, fastened behind head. Keith’s worn muzzles before, especially given his reputation on Earth, and he’s only surprised when the attendants move on to muzzle both little girls beside him as well. It must be standard for household slaves here. Only when the lock clicks into place are the chains on his wrists undone, followed next by the chains on his ankles.

The livery of the house is a plain black bodysuit with a navy tunic that hangs down just past Keith’s waist, shapeless and drab. The long sleeves on the bodysuit are welcome as he’s still cold. Dressing brings relief, the plain black closed toe sandals comfortable and warm as he slips them on. He spends precious moments adjusting the fall of his bracelets and collar so they don’t chaff against his wrists and neck quite so harshly before a sharp gesture from one of the attendants beckons him and the girls to follow.

They’re led through the winding grid of corridors that make up the household, above to the surface where open air walkways lead to various rooms on one side and gardens on the other. High above, the Martian atmosphere beyond the colony dome is rust tinged blue. A blue so pale and fragile it looks nothing like Earth’s atmosphere but rather a pale imitation of it. The set of rooms they’re led to overlooks a garden that is lavish even by Earth standards – a tree shades a bench in front of a small pond full of koi fish, precious creatures grown from DNA splices brought a hundred years ago. For a moment Keith pauses as they’re led past the garden and into an elegant sitting room, for the garden looks like the one on his father’s estate, where his mother had wiled away her time when he was young.

There’s another attendant in the sitting room, a slave high ranking enough to wear scrubs instead of a bodysuit, hers in the same navy as their livery. Her hair is long enough that, but for her clothing, she could be mistaken for a free woman, tied back in a low blond ponytail. “I see Master has finally acknowledged my request.” The woman comments, her voice dry as the Martian soil beyond the dome. “And two new maids in training, I see.” She offers a wane smile for the girls, who keep their heads bowed and don’t respond.

She doesn’t seem put out by the lack of response, instead continuing, “My name is Magdalen, I am head of the consort suite in House White. You have been given the special privilege of serving Lord Shirogane-White, Lord White’s consort. To serve directly in the household of one of the Great Families of Mars is an honor not to be taken lightly. To that end you will be trained in proper etiquette as befitting your stations here. Until I deem you worthy, you will remain muzzled when in the presence of Lord Shirogane-White.” Steely eyes, as pale as the sky outside, glance over the three of them before Magdalen nods, satisfied. She turns her attention to the attendant that had accompanied them. “Take the girls and get them fed and settled in the dormitory. The boy will come with me. I have waited too long for assistance, he can make himself useful now.”

Keith’s stomach twists at her words, more from hunger than anything else, but it’s an old acquaintance. The tube that had been shoved down his throat kept him supplied with nutrients, but it’s still been eight months since he last had any food to speak of. Still, he shoves it down as he follows Magdalen obediently from the room and down a short hall. She knocks on the door and calls, “Master, it’s time to get ready for dinner.”

From within a voice, soft spoken but deeply male, calls back. “Come in.”

The head slave pushes open the door and steps inside, and Keith follows closely at her heels into the bedroom beyond the door. Facing away from them, seated in a motorized chair, is the man who must be Lord White’s consort, Lord Shirogane-White. The chair spins to face them and Keith takes in the features of the man who is his new master. Lord Shirogane-White looks, at first glance, to be an old man but beneath the short cut of white hair his features are smooth and young. Dark eyes remind him of his father’s own eyes, and Keith remembers his past enough to know that his name and Lord Shirogane-White’s name are sibling names. Among the Ancients, they would have come from the same collection of city-states – the same country.

That, however, is generations past, and in the here and now he sinks to his knees, head bowed enough that the muzzle cuts into his skin above his collar, a slight choking feeling from the pressure. Magdalen, due to her status, only bows to her master. “Magdalen,” Lord Shirogane-White’s call of her name is warm and affectionate, “I see my husband finally deemed me worthy enough for you to have an assistant.” His voice is faintly bitter, beneath the forced levity of his tone. “Come here.” He orders, “Let me have a look at you.”

Keith rises to his feet and takes a few steps forward, one wrist clasped in his hand behind his back in proper deferential stance until he stands just before the seated Lord. Lord Shirogane-White’s hands are nothing like his husband’s – large callused fingers grasp his chin and observe his face, catching on his eyes, just like Lord White had. “Ah,” his new master intones, amused. “My favorite color. It seems my husband does think of me on occasion after all.” He’s released and Lord Shirogane-White rolls backwards a few paces before waving to Magdalen. “I believe I should thank my husband for his kindness. I’ll wear chrysanthemum and lilac tonight.”

“As you wish, Master.” Magdalen answers. She gestures sharply for Keith to follow and he does so, squashing down the part of him that rebels at being treated like a fanciful trinket. He’s a slave – it’s all he’ll ever be to the citizens of Earth and the Families of Mars. The closet Magdalen leads him into is small compared to ones of Earth, but the overflow of clothing indicates wealth and status in abundance. His wardrobe as a child had rivaled Lord Shirogane-White’s, but back then Keith had been too selfish and young to see what he had until it was stolen from him.

Magdalen pulls out vintage clothing of the sort that’s rare and precious – a robe and overcoat in the style of the Lord’s Ancients. It is black and edged in lavender and red, and Keith imagines it will look very nice when tied by the gold and red sash that’s piled on top of the robes Magdalen places in his arms. Mercifully, there isn’t much else, because even the Great Houses do not stand on high ceremony for a simple dinner. Back in the living quarters Keith is directed to lay the robes across his master’s bed before being sent to draw a bath.

The bathroom, as is expected of a Great House, even one of Mars, is lavish and elegant, the windows overlooking the garden and a tub large enough to soak in dominates the room. The water is, of course, geothermally heated and naturally a warm temperature as it flows from the faucet. Keith allows himself a moment, just a breath, to linger his cold fingers under the water, letting the warmth bring life back into tips that haven’t recovered just yet.

The door to the bathroom slides open and like a child caught sneaking from the kitchen, he darts his hands back out of the water and backs away to stand at attention against the far wall as Lord Shirogane-White wheels his way in, followed closely by Magdalen who has towels piled in her arms.

“Slave.” Magdalen calls Keith’s attention as the master watches expectantly. “Assist Lord Shirogane-White in undressing.”

He nods in lieu of a spoken acknowledgment of her orders and steps forward, kneeling before the lord to unlace the black boots that snake their way up to mid-calf. Lord Shirogane-White’s daywear is utilitarian, black pressed slacks and a white tunic in a style cut to flatter, tailored specifically for his body. His master does not sit passively and allow himself to be undressed, for by the time Keith has the boots off, the white tunic is also removed, leaving his skin bare from the waist up. The lord manages to stand, with Magdalen’s help, long enough for his slacks to be divested from his body, along with his undergarments, before he collapses on the rim of the bath. All that remains on him is a bracelet, white with a small blue inset LED which blinks slowly, but when neither Lord Shirogane-White nor Magdalen move to remove it, Keith guesses it’s supposed to stay on. Together the two slaves help lower the lord into the bath, nearly full now, and with a dismissive wave Magdalen sends Keith to stand against the far wall again.

She turns off the water and a moment later joins him, her hands folded behind her back as Lord Shirogane-White sighs deeply and relaxes in that bath. Keith squashes down the part of him that’s deeply jealous of his master’s treatment. Beneath the muzzle, he bites his lip and looks away, trying to find something to focus on. His eyes finally fall on a bottle on the bathroom vanity, angled in such a way that Keith can read the ingredients list, and it occupies him for the next half hour as he stands at attention, ignored and forgotten now that he’s become momentarily obsolete. He’s hungry – ravenous, really, and his stomach twists and bubbles, so empty it feels like its eating him alive, but even as uncomfortable as it is, Keith knows it can be far worse, and so focuses on anything else. He’ll be dismissed eventually and then someone will remember he hasn’t eaten. Perhaps Magdalen will kindly remove the muzzle once they are out of the Lord Consort’s presence and Keith will be able to remind her that he needs food at some point.

Lord Shirogane-White finally seems to languish enough and calls for Magdalen’s assistance. The head maid steps forward and with clear clinical ease assists her master in bathing and washing his hair. When she finishes and begins to drain the bath, she snaps her fingers and Keith comes back into himself from where he was drifting in a daydream. He steps forward and does as he’s ordered, lifting Lord Shirogane-White from the bath and placing him in a chair in the corner while Magdalen wraps him in towels. Once he’s dry again, the process of dressing for dinner begins. Underclothes, a linen robe under the black robe, sash, jacket, second sash, socks and sandals. Keith fetches each item as it’s needed, helps his master to stand when necessary, even as his arms shake from the exertion.

There’s a knock on the door as Keith is helping Lord Shirogane-White back into his wheelchair and Magdalen leaves the room to answer it. A moment later she appears and announces, “Lord White is here to escort you to dinner.”

The Lord Consort smiles in response, settles his robes around him, and pushes forward. “Let’s not leave my dear husband waiting.”

Keith follows Magdalen and his master out into the bedroom where the lord from earlier, Lord White, stands, dressed in a formal suit with a crimson tie around his neck and glittering cufflinks in his blue jacket. He turns when his husband enters the room, but his expression remains as flat and affectless as Keith remembers it being from the processing.

“Takashi.” Lord White greets, and his voice is distant, holding none of the warmth that Keith remembered his father’s voice holding for his mother. A political marriage, then, binds them, and not a particularly amicable one.

“Adam.” Lord Shirogane-White returns, smiling slightly. “Thank you for the gift, husband.”

Lord White waves a single hand dismissively. “I thought you’d might enjoy him. I see Magdalen has already set him to work.” He steps towards the door and the Lord Consort follows closely after him. As they leave, their conversation turns to inconsequential subjects, their voices fading down the hall. Once they’re alone, Magdalen sighs heavily and sags against the wall. Keith is tempted to do the same, but stubborn pride keeps him on his feet.

“You never know what kind of mood Master and Lord White will be in.” Magdalen informs him. “This seems to be a good day for them. I caution you, boy, Lord White has a heavy hand and little patience for slaves.” Keith nods in response. His last master had been quick on the temper and quick to strike as well. So had Keith’s father, but he’d never once struck Keith or Keith’s mother, not even before Keith was born. “Come here, I’ll remove your muzzle now.” She orders softly, and Keith, too grateful to be free, steps closer.

The muzzle falls off in her hands once she undoes the lock on the back and Keith takes a step back jaw cracking as he flexes it for the first time since waking up this morning. He knows better than to speak, however, and after a deep yawn ducks his head to await Magdalen’s commands. “Come,” She orders, “I’ll show you to the kitchens. I could see the way your arms shook today – the worst situation would be if you accidentally dropped our master.”

Keith nods and follows her from the room and back down the halls they first traversed, the servant’s passages. He lingers just long enough as they pass the garden to see ghosts before his eyes.

His mother, her dark hair long over her shoulder, seated in the shade of a tree. His father, tall and broad, leaning over her, a teasing smile on his face. Him, in the grass by the koi pond.

He blinks; and in the next moment the daydream ghosts are gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for corporal punishment (off screen) and it's after effects (on screen) as well as Adam using abelist slurs against Shiro. Honestly, not gonna lie, when Adam calls Shiro by the slur I went "Man, is that too much?" But Adam and Shiro have a VERY ABUSIVE hot/cold relationship with each other. Shiro doesn't recognize that Adam is WAY out of line, but he DOES have a line at least, he just hasn't realized that his line is pretty far into the "yeah, this is DEFINITELY abuse" territory. Honestly, as an abuse survivor myself, this didn't trigger me when I wrote is, but I can easily see it being a pretty huge trigger for some people. If it sounds like it might be a problem, message or comment me and I'll summarize the chapter for you. Stop reading at the second scene change, the one that begins, '"You should consider your reputation."'
> 
> I've updated the tags to reflect this. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! You guys seriously made my day. Happy Halloween to those who celebrate it! I hope you had/have a safe and fun time!

About a week after the latest shipment of slaves from Earth arrives, Takashi invites his childhood friend, Lord Matthew Holt, over for tea. He brings with him his sister and the three of them find themselves in Takashi’s garden under the shade of the tree. Violet Eyes, the name Takashi has given the slave his husband gave him, aids Takashi in moving from the path to the bench before leaving to fetch chairs from the other side of the garden for Katie to sit in, as Matt takes his seat beside Takashi on the bench. At their feet, Katie’s boisterous pup, Rover, rolls around and barks excitedly until Katie hushes him.

“Is everything going smoothly for the wedding?” Takashi asks her, more to make conversation than to see her scowl, although he can’t help the smile on his face when she shoots him a perturbed look. “Don’t fret, when it’s over you’ll be all the more grateful.”

Katie rolls her eyes. “There’s so much fanfare. I don’t understand it. All of Mars will be attending and heaven forbid even a single detail be out of place.” She grimaces. “Even Hunk is annoyed, and you know how hard he is to annoy.”

Takashi does; Katie’s fiancé is the eldest son and heir to the Kahale family, who own the most productive mines on the planet. They don’t quite match the White or Holt families in terms of status, but they outstrip Takashi’s own family easily. In fact, it’s something of an unusual situation, Katie marrying Hunk Kahale. She’ll be Consort Holt-Kahale, a step down from her family’s position, but as a younger sibling it’s not a terrible demotion, especially given that Katie and Hunk are affectionate, even if Takashi sometimes doubts they see each other as anything more than best friends.

That’s fine, Takashi knows. You don’t have to love your husband – you just have to endure him. Once upon a time, Takashi had loved Adam, and Adam had loved him. It’s almost impossible to pinpoint when things went sour between them, but Takashi is still hopeful that someday they’ll return to friendship, even if their passion is gone forever.

Rover yips brightly and Katie leans over to pet the dog, running her fingers through curly, tawny fur. In the momentary distraction it brings, Violet Eyes returns to set a table down near them as Magdalen and two maids set out tea service on the table. Of the four slaves, Violet Eyes stands out both because of his gender and because he’s yet to gain Magdalen’s trust so he still wears the muzzle across the lower half of his face.

Matt must see where Takashi’s eyes travel, because in the next moment Takashi receives an elbow to his ribs and a knowing look from Matt. “So, finally took my advice, I see.”

Takashi rolls his eyes and doesn’t deign a response. It’s an old conversation topic between them. It’s not unusual for even consorts to take a slave to bed in a political marriage, so long as no children come of it, but truth be told that Takashi is a hopeless romantic. Even though he long misses the days when he and Adam would spend hours in bed together before disease and bitterness stole that from him, Takashi would rather make do with his hand than bring someone unwilling into his bed.

“A gift.” Takashi informs Matt. “From my husband. He thought I might like his eyes.”

Matt’s grin widens teasingly and Katie casts a look between the two of them, still petting Rover who has hopped into her lap, even though at a good twenty pounds he is on the large side for a lap dog. “Hunk and I have discussed slaves.” She says conversationally, too casually. “Mother says its far too unorthodox a marriage gift to give your husband a slave.”

Takashi cocks his head to the side. “It is rather unorthodox.” He admits. “But I imagine exchanging slaves in private after the reception would work, so long as you both were amiable.”

Katie blushes and Takashi smiles. She’s sixteen by Earth standards – Martian years are nearly twice as long as Earth years – but came of age two months ago as a Martian adult. Still, it must be terribly awkward, even as normal as sexual desire is, to discuss such matters in front of family. “We aren’t sure what we want. I know I need to have children at some point, to continue the Great Family, but I researched the genetic compatibility between the Kahale and Holt families and found that it may be better if we introduced new genetic viability into the families. I plan to seek permission from the high council to bear and legitimize my slave’s children, and Hunk has plans to do the same for his slave’s children.”

Takashi nods. Adam is still searching for a female slave of suitable genetics to carry his and Takashi’s children. Genetic inbreeding is a very real fear for the Great Families, and with only nobility or slaves on Mars, there aren’t many options for both political alliances and ensuring the health of the families. The high council is made up of all the matriarchs and patriarchs of the Great Families and must approve on a case by case basis each request for legitimization. None of this is helped, of course, by the fact that Adam has even less of an interest in women than Takashi does. It was what made their whirlwind romance so electric in the beginning of their marriage.

Matt smiles indulgently at Katie’s blunt revelation of her research, but Takashi can tell he still thinks of her as his kid sister and hasn’t quite come to terms with the fact that she’s getting married in just a few short months.  “You might have a fight with the council on your hands, though. Especially if you decide any of your own children should belong solely to the Holt family.” Then he shakes his head, “But that’s a concern for another day.”

Katie nods and turns her attention to the tea table. “Yeah. It just seems silly. I’m lucky to marry someone I actually like so I shouldn’t complain, but Hunk and I would both rather be absorbed in our work than dealing with household matters.”

Takashi gets that. “That’s why I leave matters of my house to my head slave.” He tells Katie. “So I can focus on the things that are important to me.”

As is proper, the two maids serve Matt and Katie first, allowing Katie to shoo Rover from her lap before she accepts her tea, while Magdalen serves Takashi. There’s a quiet that follows as the slaves fall back into a line and the nobles nibble on sweets and sip their tea. Sugar is an obscenely rare commodity as sugarcane has little in the way of nutritional value so only takes up small portions of each family’s farmland, but carrots and beets and red beans make good ingredients for traditional Ancient sweets and Takashi savors the time with his friends far more than the delicacies he only indulges in when they are around.

Rover, poor and neglected by his mistress, takes advantage of their distraction to seek attention elsewhere. Takashi had momentarily lost sight of the dog before a bright bark draws their attention to the slaves. Rover has decided he wants Violet Eyes’ attention and the slave has broken protocol to give it to him. Katie’s sharp intake of breath is scandalized as she sets her tea aside. “Rover,” she calls, and Violet Eyes glances up, eyes wide from where he’s crouched to the ground to pet the dog. “Come here boy. Slaves are not friends.”

Violet Eyes rises to his feet, body stiff and Takashi can see the way Magdalen has her eyes narrowed, promising the slave hell for breaking protocol. He feels somewhat bad for the slave, knowing that Magdalen’s ire has cowed even the fiercest and most recalcitrant of slaves in the past, but Matt for his part is amused. “Clearly the dog doesn’t get nearly enough attention if he must seek out slaves for company.”

Katie rolls her eyes. “He gets plenty.” She mutters. “He’s just an attention seeker.”

“Well,” Takashi says, not sure why he says it. “I for one see no harm done.” Maybe it’s because he hopes to spare Violet Eyes from Magdalen’s wrath, or maybe it’s because, for just a moment, Violet Eyes looked as young as Katie and just as lonely as Takashi is.

*~*~*

Keith isn’t sure what possessed him to kneel and pet the stupid dog, but the whipping he gets for it sure as hell wasn’t worth the few moments of calm and happiness he felt playing with the creature. Magdalen is furious enough she orders one of the larger, stronger attendants in the household to administer the punishment and then place Keith right back to work as soon as he’s removed from the post. Ten lashes with the energy whip, leaving burning welts down his back, and then he’s back in the consort’s suite to prepare his master for dinner.

His arms shake just as badly as they did on the first day when he lifts Lord Shirogane-White from the bath and places him on a chair in the corner for dressing and Keith wonders, morbidly, what kind of punishment Magdalen will enact if her _does_ drop the consort. He doesn’t though, thankfully, although it’s a close call and he may set Lord Shirogane-White down harder than he intends on the chair. Magdalen is gathering clothing in the other room, but while the head slave doesn’t trust Keith enough to remove the muzzle, she does allow him handle the tasks in the bathroom on his own. They are alone when the lord consort reaches out and catches Keith’s wrist, just above one of the insignia bracelets.

“Are you alright?” Lord Shirogane-White asks softly. Keith pauses, caught in surprise by the words, and knows it must show in his eyes. Still, he manages the only acceptable answer, a nod. It’s a lie betrayed by the way his hands tremble, exhaustion and pain showing in his movements, and his master can see it clear as day. “Strip, show me your back.” He orders.

_Pervert_ , Keith thinks irreverently, even as he removes his tunic and strips to the waist. He knows what the marks look like having seen them on other slaves and even having caught glances of his own in the past in mirrors in the dormitory bathrooms. This isn’t the first time he’s been beaten, and Keith doubts it’ll be the last time. They’re red and purple, angry electric burns combined with the welted sting from the sharp impact. Energy whips are not humane in the slightest, and Keith would bite the throat out of anyone who claimed they were, but they’re effective punishments.

From Lord Shirogane-White’s sharp intake of breath, he doesn’t have the familiarity with the energy whip that Keith has, because Keith knows, as much as his back aches and burns, it’s really not as bad as it could be. Oh, it’ll scar, but it’ll just be several of hundreds across his back, pink and rough. “Magdalen!” He calls, and a moment later the head maid appears in the doorway. “Please call an attendant and remove this slave from service for the rest of the day. He needs to go to the infirmary.”

Magdalen takes in the scene in the bathroom and her eyes narrow at Keith, promising hell. Keith ducks his head and prays she’ll let him explain once they’re alone. He didn’t do anything – Lord Shirogane-White started this; not Keith trying to duck his punishment by running to his master. “Yes, Master.” Magdalen gestures sharply and Keith follows her, pulling his clothing on as he leaves the bathroom. He follows Magdalen into the servant’s passage outside of consort suite and waits as Magdalen removes his muzzle.

“Please, I didn’t do anything.” The words spill from Keith’s lips before he can think better and wait for permission to speak. “Master ordered me to strip.”

The slap should be expected, but it still knocks Keith slightly off center, his hand coming up to cup his cheek over the impact site. “Enough.” Magdalen orders. “I believe you.” Her voice softens and Keith manages a glance up at her. She doesn’t look angry, “But speak out of line again and I will put you right back up on the post. Go, you’re dismissed for the evening. Have dinner and get some rest; tomorrow I want you back in service.”

It’s rather generous and Keith nods, accepting the reprieve. It doesn’t escape his notice that the infirmary isn’t mentioned at all, because it’s not a punishment if he’s healed too quickly, and Keith knows that – Magdalen knows that. He takes his muzzle back from her and departs with a short bow, heading for the dormitory as Magdalen returns to service.

He has one of the top bunk berths in the dormitory, a result of having been one of the last to be assigned a berth, and it’s only the climb up into his bed that keeps Keith from collapsing on sight. Instead he crawls under the thin blanket that serves as his only cover during the chilly evenings and just lies there, exhausted. Dinner service for the slaves won’t even start until the Family has eaten, so Keith has about an hour in the quiet where he drifts in and out of consciousness, lulled back to wakefulness every time someone enters the dormitory or leaves it again, slaves on their day to day errands or just finishing service for the day.

The worst part about being Lord Shirogane-White’s attendant is that Keith is in service from before the household wakes to after it sleeps, and he still hasn’t adjusted to the longer Martian days even after a week. He’s normally not in the dorm until it’s nearly lights out and as such doesn’t even know his own bunkmate’s name. Keith does, at least, recognize the man when he steps into the dorm and shifts the bunk as he sits down on his own bed, bringing Keith back to the surface of consciousness.

“Whole household’s talking about you.” Keith’s bunkmate says, and there’s no denying that his words are aimed at Keith. “Slave who broke protocol in front of the consort. Good job man.” The last part drips with sarcasm.

“Thanks.” Keith replies, equally sarcastic. “I try.”

That elicits a short bark of laughter from below. “Was it worth it? To play with a dog?”

“No.” Keith answers honestly. Carefully, gingerly, he shifts so that he’s lying on his stomach and can peer over the edge of the bed at his bunkmate. In a rare moment of honesty, he adds, “My last master had a dog, and when I was alone I would play with her. Never got beaten for it though.”

“Yeah, I know.” His bunkmate says. At Keith’s confused expression he grins. “Same estate as you, moron, though I suppose it’s not a surprise you don’t remember me. I’m just a kitchen boy with normal genes, and you’re, well, genetic.”

“Oh.” Keith replies inelegantly. He wracks his brain for memories, but his master kept him separate from the other slaves on Earth. At first because Keith was wild and untamed and then later because Keith was “special” and therefore treated differently from the other slaves. He flips back over on the bed. “Don’t act so jealous.” He says. “We have shorter lifespans than non-genetics.” He admits. “And it sucks, being spared because someone likes the way your eyes look.” Bitterness washes over him.

He thought about his mother’s eyes, a paler purple than his, beautiful and sad because it was her eyes that Keith’s father fell in love with, her eyes that Keith had inherited.

“Yeah.” His bunkmate agrees. “I’m Griff, by the way, I don’t think we’ve actually spoken since arriving here.”

“Keith.” He returns, because it’s only polite. Then, because there’s a budding comradery forming, Keith asks, “Wake me up for dinner service?”

“Sure man, get some sleep. Your dumb ass probably needs it.”

*~*~*

“You should consider your reputation.” Adam says conversationally at dinner, and Takashi casts a glance over at him, surprised by his husband’s nonchalant words. “Inviting the scion of the Holt family over for a meeting in your private quarters. Imagine the gossip.”

Takashi can’t help the way his eyes narrow at that. Adam is looking for a fight, intentionally baiting one out of Takashi, but he can’t help but fall prey to Adam’s machinations. “Any worse than the gossip currently surrounding us?”

He means the open secret that he and Adam are not in love anymore. It comes in faux concern at parties and social gathering, pointedly directed at Takashi – “Is it because of your, you know, illness?” Or condolences to Adam couched in terms of praise – “What a gregarious husband you are!” All of it, of course, meant backhanded to insult Takashi.

Takashi’s great-grandfather had once been an essential member of the early colonies, running the fabrication and manufacturing labs that enabled the production of most of equipment that ensured the colonists survived and thrived. The Shirogane family still handles most of the production of goods for the Great Families, but the prestige has faded. Takashi almost never talks to his older sister, the scion of his family, but when he does he sees how worn and tired she is from running what is essentially Mar’s factory district. It’s amazing how influence has waned in just a couple decades, until the Shirogane family was considered so low that marrying into the White family was almost a scandalous jump in status.

 “Takashi.” Adam’s tone is flat, warning.

Takashi ignores it, pushing what Adam started. “If we’re to talk about indiscretion, let’s address the elephant in this room – you’ve slept with Lord Kinkade’s youngest, Ryan. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

Adam stiffens. “You wouldn’t dare breathe a word about that.”

Takashi sighs. “No.” He admits. He wouldn’t reveal that knowledge because ruining his husband’s family’s reputation and the reputation of the Kinkade’s son who would be declared unmarriageable for his premarital indiscretion, is not something he can stomach. It is not Ryan Kinkade’s fault he was young and inexperienced, and Takashi knows how charming and persuasive Adam is when he wants something. “But if you want to talk about rumors, maybe consider which one of the two of us has actually broken their marriage vows.”

“Don’t push this on me, Takashi!” Adam snarls back and rises to his feet, stalking around the table to where Takashi is sitting. “You married into _my_ household, you will obey my rules and I am telling you that Matthew Holt is not allowed to visit you unchaperoned.”

Takashi wheels his chair away from the table, disappointed when Adam steps aside before he can roll over Adam’s foot in the process. “You will not deny me visitation with my friends.” He informs his husband coolly. “I will abide your rules, husband, but you may not venture the boundary of abuse with me. The council will not abide.”

“Do you really believe that Takashi?” Adam asks cruelly, leaning over and invading Takashi’s space with his arms gripped on either side of Takashi. “Who do you think the council will abide; a member who sits with them on matters of public policy, or a cripple who can’t even fulfill his own martial duties anymore?”

It’s a blow so low it shocks Takashi into silence. The crime for martial abuse is steep, so steep it can ruin a family, and aside from Adam’s younger sister, a shuttle pilot, there are no other members of House White besides Adam and Takashi. If Takashi were to win a case against Adam, House White would be torn apart. Takashi would be honorably divorced and able to wed again. Adam can’t honestly take that risk. He wouldn’t. The thought calms him enough to wheel backwards, out of Adam’s space.

“Try me.” Takashi warns his husband. “You want to gamble your family’s future like that? Threaten me again. I will fight you.”

Adam chuckles darkly in response. “It would be the first time you’ve fought me in years, Takashi, and I can promise you that I would win.”

He sounds so sure. Takashi almost wants to call up his family tonight and begin a petition for divorce right then and there, but in the next moment he remembers. Adam is volatile – always has been – and he’s as upset about Takashi’s disability as Takashi is. The stupid disease that stole everything from Takashi. His mobility and now, his husband. They didn’t know, when they were Katie’s age and married each other, that Takashi had multiple sclerosis. They didn’t know that his time was running out before the nerves were so damaged he’d be unable to walk, but that’s no reason for Adam to break his vows to Takashi, to push him aside like this. Adam is lashing out any way he can, and it’s not fair to Takashi, but he gets it, he does. He’s angry too.

But that doesn’t mean Takashi has to endure abuse from his husband, so he decides that dinner is over and without a good night turns and rolls out the door, leaving his husband to fester in putrid anger on his own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take two of trying to post this chapter! 
> 
> A thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments on the last chapter. I have seen them, I'm about to go through them and reply, but I wanted to get this chapter up first. Since my last posting, I've: traveled to Florida for a wedding, went to Disney World, came home and immediately packed up all my stuff, moved from Virginia to California, and just got my internet back today. It's been an interesting few weeks, so I thank you all for your comments and kudos, and your patience as I deal with the backlog of my inbox.

It’s two nights later when an attendant wakes Keith from his sleep two hours after lights out, to the annoyance of Griff and the others in the slave’s dorm. Keith follows the attendant in a half-asleep daze, trying his hardest to think of what possible reason could be behind his summons. Since the beating, he’s done his best to be perfect and faultless, even though after a week and a half he knows Magdalen is not a harsh head slave, but she is strict enough about protocol that Keith has learned he won’t be able to get away with any lapses in his behavior, a lesson he should have known even before he broke protocol to pet Lady Holt’s dog.

Magdalen meets Keith outside of Lord Shirogane-White’s suite and locks his muzzle in place. Even in the middle of the night, Keith isn’t allowed to go before any members of the family without it, it seems. He accepts the limitation with grace and follows Magdalen into the suite.

It’s dark in Lord Shirogane-White’s bedroom, with the shutters pulled over the windows and only the dim glow of the small light Magdalen carries with her to light the way across the room. Normally, Keith knows, his master would sleep with the windows open, allowing the light of Mar’s moons to shine in through the window. Tonight, however, Keith’s eyes catch on an IV stand set up near the bed, the bag nearly empty.

“Have you ever changed an IV before?” Magdalen asks softly, and Keith shakes his head, so she walks him through the steps. There are fresh bags of saline pre-mixed with pain killers in the bathroom, and Keith is directed to change the IV every time it empties. Once she deems him suitably trained for his task, she hands Keith her light and departs, leaving Keith alone in the consort’s suite with a sleeping master. Great.

It’s not that Keith is opposed to scullery duty (well, he is, because no slave in their right mind wants the midnight shift) and he does understand that as the oldest of the newest slaves in the household, the drudgery falls on him, but it is annoying the way he really, desperately wants to yawn and go back to sleep.

Instead, Keith settles himself near the window where he has a clear line of sight to the bed and the IV and tries to think of something to distract himself with. He tries to remember a story his mother told him when he was little, about the Ancients and how their technology was used to create the genetics. “They wanted to look different and be different from everyone else, but instead they made their own children different. And then a select group decided to breed their children with the characteristics that would enable them to live forever.”

Sometimes his mother would tell him that story when his father was around, and his father would say, “The Ancients who worshipped a singular deity believed that their god was punishing the children for the sins of their parents, for the older the children got, the sicker they became.”

And then, when she was gone and only Keith and his father remained. “It’s bad genes and foolishness, to think that perfection was better than imperfection, that order better than chaos, and that somehow we could reverse the laws of entropy.” He always sounded so bitter when he spoke to Keith about it, and why shouldn’t he? His love was gone, stolen by the very genes that made her lovely.

The bag empties and Keith heaves off the window ledge to change it, pausing long enough for his eyes to catch on his master’s face. He’s older than Keith, his chin square and broad in a way that reminds Keith of his father’s face, faded and dull in his memories. His white hair has an undercut that’s barely longer than Keith’s own stubble, which is odd given that free people normally wear their hair to their shoulders or longer, a delineation of rank as if the collars didn’t make it obvious enough that one was a slave. Even on Mars this seems to be the case, except where Keith’s master is concerned. Keith shakes himself and glances away. Who cares what his master looks like? Furious at himself for delaying, Keith turns back to his task and gives it his full attention.

So the touch on his arm comes as a surprise, light and gentle but enough that Keith startles, gasping audibly as his breath and heart both stutter. “Violet.” Lord Shirogane-White whispers, and now that Keith dares glance out from under respectfully lowered eyelashes he sees that his master is awake, dark brown eyes trained on Keith. Those eyes are alert and awake, though slightly hazed. “Sorry.” Lord Shirogane-White whispers and Keith pauses, wondering why his master is bothering to speak to him, let alone apologize, and for what, Keith can’t fathom. “I startled you.”

Keith shakes his head and looks away, back to the task at hand. Lord Shirogane-White watches Keith, awake and alert, and when Keith casts a glance over at him, his master is contemplating the IV in the back of his hand. “Open the window.” He orders, when Keith finally hangs the new bag on the stand. Keith bows and steps away, pulling the blinds back on the curtain to let the pale predawn light filter through the windows. It’s a paltry light, but Lord Shirogane-White flinches away, burrowing back into the retreat of blankets. “Too bright.” He grumbles. “Must be worse than usual if Magdalen has set a watcher on me.”

Keith, of course, doesn’t respond, and in the absence of an order takes up watch by the window again, hands clasped behind his back, at rest with his head bowed. But whatever meds are in Lord Shirogane-White’s IV, they don’t make him sleepy. The consort finally emerges from the cocoon of blankets and carefully rolls over on his side to watch Keith, who does his best to ignore the attention. “Violet,” the consort says again. “I’m sorry for what happened the other day.”

The other…? Oh, Keith realizes, he means the other day in the garden. But that’s not his fault. Keith keeps his eyes trained on the ground. It’s not like Lord Shirogane-White ordered the beating doubled and Keith _did_ break protocol.

The consort continues, “I’ve thought about it. I think I’ll get a cat. Rover is a good companion for Katie. She likes him and spoils him rotten, and I think it’d be good to have an animal around to take care of. Maybe it’d help on days like today, to not be alone in this giant bed all by myself.” He glances over at Keith and Keith watches, wary and quiet, as tentatively Lord Shirogane-White extends his free hand towards Keith. “Come lay on the bed with me?”

Keith freezes, shoulders tight enough to make the muscles ache. He moves, and it’s stiff and reluctant. It’s been over a year since anyone forced Keith into their bed and he’s enjoyed the reprieve, the faux sense of safety being untouched and untouchable brought him.

(He should have known. Should have considered.)

Lord Shirogane-White’s brow furrows as Keith approaches, the hand retreating back to pull back the cover. Keith’s hands, however, shake as he pulls the tunic up over his head. “Stop.” The consort’s voice is sharp and Keith freezes, eyes lowered as he drops the tunic on the floor. “I don’t – I won’t.” He curses beneath his covers. “I just want to share warmth with another person. I won’t hurt you.”

_Yet._ Keith thinks to himself. Still, he steps over the discarded tunic and carefully navigates the IV stand and the covers to lay down next to Lord Shirogane-White, who wraps his arm around Keith’s waist a moment later and hugs the smaller, younger man to his chest. Keith doesn’t move, even as he huffs behind his mask, indignant at being used as an oversized stuffed animal for a man.

“Sorry.” For the third time, Lord Shirogane-White apologizes, and Keith would snap at him, near the end of his patience, that he doesn’t want to hear it again. His master has nothing to apologize for and even if he did, Keith wouldn’t accept an apology from him, or anyone really. It’s not his place, not anymore. “You’re warm.” Keith’s master murmurs into Keith’s ear, and Keith focuses on his breath, reveling in the comfort of a soft mattress instead of the thin pallet in the slave dormitory. The warmth of a body beside him, and the quiet moonlight streaking through the window. Lulled by the calm, he finds himself asleep not long after Lord Shirogane-White falls quiet, their breaths slow and soft in the Martian moonlight.

*~*~*

Takashi feels better than he has in a very long time when he wakes. It takes a moment before he realizes its midmorning and sunlight is streaming through the window, scattering on motes of dust in the air, and the IV bag has been replaced. Beside him, Violet Eyes is still asleep, face relaxed as his chest rises and falls beneath the palm of Takashi’s hand. He barely remembers last night, just coming awake in pain so desperate and sharp he’d barely had the strength to hit the call button on his nightstand to summon Magdalen. He remembers waking several times, and the haze of pain fading with each successive wake, until the time he came awake to find Violet Eyes watching him.

The conversation he doesn’t remember, just those wide violet eyes, terrified, when Takashi had asked him to come to bed. Those eyes are expressive, conveying what words cannot. Takashi wonders, idly, if Violet Eyes knows he projects his every thought on his body.

Like thinking Takashi was going to rape him.

He rolls over to the side of the bed, his back to Violet Eyes and swallows the spit gathering in his mouth. He’s just a slave; Takashi shouldn’t feel this strongly about it, but he does. Because sometimes he catches a slave out of the corner of his eye and he thinks, perhaps me. In another light, in another life. Perhaps me, had his mother not been Kaoru Shirogane. He’d known his father, in passing, in theory, like most children of the Great Families with whom a slave’s genetics were introduced.

_I wouldn’t want to be treated like that._

The door opened and Magdalen stepped in carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods and tea. “Good morning Master.” She greeted, laying the tray across the tea table on the other side of the room. “I’m pleased to see you are feeling better.”

Takashi pushed himself up in bed, sliding back to rest his back against the headboard. “Yes, I’m feeling better. Thank you for coming.” His arms feel weak and shaking, and he breathes to hide the way even sitting up steels his breath from him. He’ll be lucky to get dressed today, let alone leave the consort’s suite. Damn Adam – he knew stress was dangerous for Takashi’s health, but he’d triggered the attack in Takashi anyway.

No, that wasn’t fair. Adam should have known better, yes, but it wasn’t his fault. Takashi can’t blame him for every attack he suffered. Still, as he sits there and looks to Magdalen, bitterness washes over Takashi, anger that he has to breathe through, release. Patience yields focus, as his mother used to tell him.

Magdalen glances at the bed – at Violet Eyes, asleep still but shifting into the space Takashi has rolled out of, chasing warmth. She doesn’t say anything, just approaches and shakes Violet Eyes awake. “Go get breakfast.” She orders the slave. “Be here when you finish.”

Violet Eyes nods and slips from the bed to his knees to reach for the tunic still discarded on the floor. His hands shake visibly as he pulls the garment over his head and rises back to his feet. Another bow and Takashi nods his dismissal, squashing the feeling of pain at his departure. He turns back to Magdalen who is preparing a plate, purposefully not looking at Takashi as she pours a cup of tea.

“You disapprove.” Takashi observes in the silence.

“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove.” Magdalen replies, bringing the plate over to Takashi’s bed and setting it beside him. “However, the slave is perhaps not the wisest choice to put in your bed.”

“My husband bought him for me.” Takashi observes. He wants to pull this thread, follow this lead, understand what Magdalen is thinking about Violet Eyes and maybe learn more about the slave whose presence has captured Takashi’s attention.

“Yes, but with all due respect, Lord White did not see his dossier, or perhaps he would have been more careful about letting such a disobedient and rebellious slave enter your presence.” Magdalen observes dryly.

“Disobedient?” Takashi finds himself asking. Aside from the outburst in the garden, Takashi has never observed anything but perfect obedience from Violet Eyes.

Magdalen nods. “Master, I would not worry too much. His violence ended in his youth, after his first master passed away. After that, he was violent for a few years – teenage instability, likely – before settling down under his second master’s control. You’re his third master, and as such I do not know how he will react. Will he be compliant, like when he was a child? Or has his teenage rebellion made him dangerously unstable?”

“I see.” Takashi doesn’t, but he values Magdalen’s council. “I would like you to remove the slave’s muzzle.”

Magdalen startles visibly, withdrawing her hands enough that tea sloshes over the side of the china she’s about to set down on Takashi’s nightstand. It’s the first time Takashi has ever counteracted her decisions in the way she governs the slaves under Takashi’s household, and while Takashi knows he has the right, he’s always trusted Magdalen’s expertise when it comes to what is best protocol for his household. “Lord Shirogane.” And it’s significant, the way she drops his second name in her address. “I’ve served your household since you before you were born, so please allow me to speak freely.” She smiles gently when Takashi grants permission. “You’ve never once taken a slave to your bed. What has changed your mind?”

What has changed Takashi’s mind? Violet Eyes, vulnerable and young. Violet Eyes, lost as he pet a dog, and the way those violet colored eyes haunt his sleep.

Violet Eyes, who might not even like Takashi, but who climbed into his bed even as his hands shook, who left, terrified. Takashi wants to hear that voice. Is it as beautiful as his eyes are? Is it as lonely?

Takashi wants to know, desperately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm about halfway done with the next chapter, so with luck it won't be two weeks before I post again, but I am in the middle of writing a paper for Transformative Works and Cultures (which is OTW's peer reviewed journal; OTW is the parent organization that owns AO3) so I'm pretty focused on that right now. Not that I don't love you, but deadlines be deadlines.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a blink and you'll miss it reference to implied rape in this chapter. It probably won't ever get more graphic than that, but as is usual for me, I like to warn so you can be on guard. If you need me, my trigger warning policy is in place for a reason. Stay safe everyone.

Griff won’t stop glancing Keith’s way all through breakfast, his concern blatant and painful until Keith is ready to snap. “Enough, whatever you think happened didn’t happen.”

“So why the hell do you look white as a ghost?” Griff shoots back, not missing a beat. It’s enough to make Keith pause, hunched over his breakfast like the bland mush they call grits is going to wander off. “Seriously, dude. You can talk to me.”

How? Keith doesn’t know. He wants to say something. To defend himself, but everyone thinks – everyone thinks and maybe it’s better that they do. That they believe what happened is what happened. Keith doesn’t know what’s worse, letting people think that, or changing the perception.

Griff is looking at him expectantly.

Keith growls and gets up, grabbing his bowl and taking it over to the compost bin to empty the remains. He’ll be hungry later today, but that’s better than looking at Griff’s concerned face for one more moment. His bunkmate honestly looks a bit green.

This happened on Earth. No one cared then – why should _anyone_ care now?

The thought makes his eyes burn and Keith shoves it down. No one cared then.

And nothing happened now.

He sucks in a deep breath, feeling the way his lungs expand as he heads towards the consort suite. His muzzle is hanging in his hands, and Magdalen isn’t waiting for him when he arrives, so he knocks on the door, surprised when Magdalen opens it and takes the muzzle from him, but doesn’t move to put it on or lock it in place. “Go in.” She whispers to him. “Don’t say anything that would make me regret doing this.” Then she steps past him into the servant’s corridor and disappears down a long hall.

Keith steps into the room.

Lord Shirogane-White is seated in his wheelchair near the window overlooking the garden, a table with a simple set of morning tea service set up beside him, what’s left of breakfast already cleared away. He doesn’t turn around as Keith approaches and kneels beside him, quietly waiting for his attention.

Finally, after a long minute, the consort glances down at Keith out of the corner of his eye and says, “I want to apologize for last night.”

_You already apologized for last night, last night_. Keith thinks, and almost says before hesitating. Magdalen had warned him, and Keith doesn’t want to go back up on the post just days after he got off it, when he isn’t even fully healed yet.

He’s always been too free with his mouth, the trainers told him. It’d get him killed.

_Shame your mother never taught you how to behave._

She hadn’t, because he’d been free. He was free. Keith knew it. His name was Kogane, and his father had freed him.

He snaps back to the here and now when Lord Shirogane-White glances down at Keith with a hesitant expression on his face. “I never meant to frighten you. We’re alone here, you can speak to me.”

“Thank you, master.” Keith replies, rote. “But I have nothing to say.”

“How about your name?”

Keith freezes at the words, breath caught in his throat. His name. His name that only slaves used, because slaves themselves were not worthy of names in a master’s eyes. Of course Lord Shirogane-White wouldn’t know Keith’s name.

What was more surprising was the idea that Lord Shirogane-White would even care to know Keith’s name.

He must hesitate too long, for the consort sighs. “I won’t force you to speak to me.” He says finally, “But it would please me greatly if you would.”

Keith bows his head lower and considers it. It’s just his name, but it’s the only thing Keith has that is his and his alone. He doesn’t want anyone to have it for whom it isn’t freely given, like Griff.

Lord Shirogane-White sighs again. “You’re dismissed for the day. I’m sure you’re exhausted from last night.”

He’s not, but Keith rises, bows, and leaves.

*~*~*

Takashi doesn’t leave his room after the attack, lucky to have even made it into his chair, but even then he doesn’t have enough strength to go anywhere, and soon after Violet Eyes leaves he goes back to bed and sleeps for the whole day.

That evening he calls his sister. Minako looks exhausted but pleased when she picks up on the other line, smiling broadly at Takashi. “Outoto-chan! How are you? I heard a rumor that you were sick last night.”

“I’m fine.” Takashi says, because he feels like he has too. “I had another fight with Adam.”

Minako frowns in response. “Takashi…”

“No, Mina, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I’m fine. If I’m not fine I’ll let you know.”

“You know stress just makes you sicker.” Minako points out. Self consciously she wipes her bangs out of her face and Takashi knows that the white of his own hair worries her. He shouldn’t have gone gray so young, but he was sick.

He’d had black hair when he married Adam, and then the fighting started, and his bangs turned white, and then all his hair turned white.

“I know, Oneechan.” Takashi replies. “I’m fine.”

“I’m worried.” Minako presses. “I’m so worried. Just divorce him and move home. I don’t care what happens to the family’s reputation. You should spend your last – you should be comfortable.”

_You should spend your last days of life with us._ Minako means, but catches herself, not that Takashi doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“My place is here with my husband’s family.” Takashi says. “I am comfortable here.”

“There.” Minako says in disbelief. “There in that giant home with a husband who has not honored his vows to you.” Takashi’s breath catches. Does Minako know about Adam’s infidelity? She can’t. No one can know. Takashi won’t ruin Adam like this. But then Minako adds, “You deserve a husband who loves you, who supplies you with children, who showers you as a precious treasure in gifts and flowers and all that romantic bullshit you two used to do, when you were young.”

“I know.” Takashi whispers softly. “I know.”

He does and he doesn’t believe it. He does and he doesn’t know how to believe it. “I wanted to ask you something and I hope you won’t tell mother about this.”

Minako cocks her head to the side, sending long straight hair falling across her face. “Takashi…”

“Mina, please.”

“All right.” She agrees, almost too easily. Mina is ten years older than Takashi. She has been married, lost her husband, and married again in her life. She has two children, one fathered by her first husband, the second fathered by a slave. They are both legitimately hers. “Ask your question.”

“Did we have the same father?” Takashi blurts out to avoid losing his nerve.

It’s clearly not what Minako expects, because she blinks, her face closing off in surprise. “Yes.” She answers finally. “Mother was… affectionate. Very affectionate. There were rumors, almost scandals, when you were born, and the genetic test revealed we were full blooded siblings.”

“Oh.” Takashi breathes out. Of course. He hadn’t even thought about that. With a female slave, keeping the same one isn’t too much of an irregularity as it means she’s a strong carrier of future generations. In fact, there’s almost a precedent for choosing a female slave who has already born a child of her own as a family’s carrier. But a male slave is to be used and discarded, the children should be fathered by whatever pet is warming the mother’s bed at the moment. Ten years is a long time for the same pet to occupy his mistress’s bed.

“She loved him.” Minako’s voice is low, telling the secret across the video screen like no one can hear them if she speaks softly enough. “Father. She never told you because she was scared. I only knew when the tests came out. I was old enough to know.”

“What happened to him?” Takashi finds himself asking.

“She still loves him.” Minako says. “But she’s more careful now, not to show it.” Her gaze turns hard, searching, and she looks at Takashi as if seeing through him. “Takashi, my outoto, please tell me you haven’t inherited our curse.”

“What curse?”

But Minako isn’t listening. She says. “It’s us, you see. I thought it was just the women, to love who we should have no business loving. But you – Takashi – I can see it. You look today like you did when you were fourteen and realized you were in love with Adam, and I know it’s not Adam who has inspired that look in you.”

Takashi sets his mouth in a grim line. “You see too much, Oneesama.” But what she says catches him. “Tell me about our curse.”

“Oh Takashi, my love.” Minako sighs. “I had hoped to spare you the ugly truth. I had hoped when you loved Adam that meant your heart wasn’t pining for the impossible, but I see I was wrong.” Again, her voice drops low and mournful. “My youngest’s father – I sent him away because I didn’t know how mother did it. I don’t know how she kept our father around, pretending distance during the day but refusing to marry over and over again. No husband needed, because she was genetically incompatible and there was no suitable alliance, so she raised us on her own, and father watched from a distance. I don’t know how he did it, because I think it was a blessing, sending Marcus away, so he wouldn’t see Hiro grow up knowing that he couldn’t have his own son.

“Takashi, I love you.” Minako says. “For your own sake, whoever has captured your attention, send them away from you. Do not fall into the curse like mother and I. Don’t let it consume you, ruin you, because if you are not careful, trust me, it will.”

She hung up not long after, and Takashi’s head was reeling with her words in his mind.

Violet Eyes was… fascinating… yes, and Takashi may have been infatuated with the slave, but that was because he was new, novel and interesting, a genetic with purple eyes the color that Takashi loved. It wasn’t anything beyond simple infatuation and boredom. It wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

*~*~*

Takashi felt the next week acutely, as if every breath was a tear along his lungs leaving him gasping and grasping for straws as to the source of the damage he felt. It was Minako’s warning, tearing at him as Violet Eyes denied Takashi and Takashi could not bring himself to force the issue and end the infatuation nor send the slave away to spare his heart.

Violet Eyes was an obedient slave, even if he was far from perfect. Takashi found himself observing the slave’s behavior over the course of the next weeks, the way he slipped in his obedience just before Takashi’s bath, lost in thought until either Takashi sighed in exasperation or Magdalen snapped at him to remind him to be attentive. More than once, Takashi would hear Magdalen drag Violet Eyes from the room to deliver a lecture or a slap when Violet Eyes slipped. No breach of protocol since the incident in the gardens was so great that Magdalen had the slave back up on the post, and as the week passed his wounds healed, leaving behind a graceful, fluid, sometimes distracted slave whom Takashi could not stop thinking about.

Takashi knew he shouldn’t pay any attention, because Minako’s warning rang heavy in head and heart. Takashi would be ruined by this infatuation. He shouldn’t (he couldn’t).

Yet in the quiet observations, Takashi realized that Violet Eyes wasn’t distracted by random instances, but was in fact reading the words written on books, notes, and even the labels of toiletries in his room. Violet Eyes could read.

That realization, honestly, was his downfall.

Magdalen could read. As an attendant slave she’d been taught simple words in English and in Ancestral Japanese to fulfill her duties in the household. Attendants were valued, ranked far above chattel like Violet Eyes, bound to families rather than freely traded. Chattel like Violet Eyes would never have been taught to read.

Unless…

“Were you trained on Earth?” Takashi found himself asking one evening as Violet Eyes helped him dress for dinner.

Violet Eyes merely shook his head. “No more than any other slave, Master.”

It should have ended there, this exchange, but Takashi was curious, so he pressed. “Who taught you to read then?” And the way Violet Eyes withdrew at the comment, hands trembling as he sucked in a quick breath through his teeth was damning. Takashi was too invented.

He needed to pull back.

“My father, sir.” Violet Eyes said, and any thoughts of withdrawal fled from Takashi’s head, intrigued. Unfortunately, Magdalen knocked on the door at that moment and dismissed Violet Eyes for the evening.

It wasn’t more than a few days after such a small confession that Violet Eyes was kneeling at Takashi’s feet, helping lace up boots for an evening party at the Altea Manor to celebrate Lady Allura Altea’s coming of age, that Takashi could revisit such a curious phrase.

“Was your father an attendant?”

Violet Eyes paused, his hands hovering over the laces of Takashi’s boots, his head downcast, the stubble of his hair dark and growing in with a quickness that wasn’t natural genetics. What caused the pause was unknown, Takashi did not know what Violet Eyes hesitated but for a moment believed the slave would refuse to speak.

“No, Master.” Finally, voice so soft it was barely a whisper.

Takashi chose not to press, even as questions circled in his head.

It was Takashi’s first outing in several months, and as such Takashi had to put his infatuation aside and smiled for his husband when Adam approached him and kissed him on both cheeks. He wouldn’t play this game, Takashi swore to himself. He was bound to his husband and if he took Violet Eyes to his bed it would be meaningless sex and nothing more, something to abide the time away.

“You look troubled, Takashi.” Adam greeted, smooth and suave as if he actually cared. “I hope I have not put such a look on your face.”

“Of course not, husband.” Takashi forced a smile to his face. _You’d have to care first._ And that twisted, unfaithful thought gave him pause. He didn’t want to do this, not tonight. Not with Adam, not when he was finally leaving the estate for the first time in months and a chance to socialize unfettered with the rest of Martian society lay before him. Never mind that Takashi had few allies, most of them school friends of his and Adam’s. Allura was one of them, her lover Lotor another. Takashi would not pass up the opportunity to see them over a petty squabble.

He’d endure, because it’d be all too easy for Adam to change his mind, to deem Takashi not well enough, not strong enough, to visit with the other nobles, and then Takashi would lose this chance, confined once more to the prison of his life.

Adam leaned down over Takashi, and what was once a gesture that would have once made Takashi’s heart trill in delight became a moment where Takashi wanted to shrink away instead. “Well, darling husband, would it have anything to do with my gift to you?”

“Gift?” Takashi feigned innonence, even as they both knew who Adam meant. “Why husband, I’ve given thoughts to a gift. I’d like a cat, if you’re so inclined. A large cat, like a Maine Coon or Norwegian, with plenty of fur to keep me company when I’m confined to bed.”

“Is that so?” Adam smiled, slow and sardonic. “I had thought you already had a little kitten in your bed.”

Takashi didn’t rise to the bait. Adam didn’t follow through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys honestly spoil me rotten with your lovely comments and kudos. I know this fic isn't as popular as some of my other fics, but knowing there are people who enjoy it keeps me going, because I'm having fun and you all are wonderful.
> 
> That said, after the next chapter my goal is to switch back over to the DCU fandom and finish a few chapters of either Crimson or Under the Same Sky, since I've been neglecting them for the past few months. Once I do that, I'll be back here with you darlings again.


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